


A Galleon Will Free You

by oliverbrnch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Brotp, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, Gay Draco Malfoy, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Hermione and Harry are BEST FRIENDS, Indian Harry Potter, Lesbian Hermione Granger, Lesbian Luna Lovegood, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter Friendship, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, M/M, Mother Hen Minerva McGonagall, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Draco Malfoy, Trans Male Character, everyone needs a hug tbh, seriously, trans character written by a trans person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverbrnch/pseuds/oliverbrnch
Summary: Harry and Hermione disappear from the Wizarding World after the Battle of Hogwarts to recooperate and figure out how they're supposed to exist in this world after what they've been through. Of course, they reach out to McGonagall for help and this reconnects them with a certain blond ferret and a resident eccentric. Hopefully, the four of them figure it out together.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	1. Please Notice-Me-Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 6.7.2020: I went ahead and edited a bit of this chapter, and I edited quite a bit of the fanfic from here when I looked it over again. I hope you guys still enjoy it! I noticed that a lot more people bookmarked this than I ever expected, so thank you!

JUNE 30TH, 1998, approx. 2 months post-Battle of Hogwarts

“Are you planning on going back?” Harry snapped out of his daydream and fell back to his present situation; sitting against a tree in the center of a Muggle park in the middle of Surrey with Hermione Granger, children running around on play equipment not too far away. The brunette beside him was giving him an expectant look. 

“Are you?” Harry crossed his arms, staring up through the branches of the tree at the baby blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. 

“I want to.” Hermione murmured, leaning her head against Harry’s shoulder, her wild curls making Harry sneeze. 

Both teenagers chuckled emptily for a moment before falling back to silence, both of their heads full of thought. 

“I do too,” Harry admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose before resuming staring at the sky. “I just feel like I can never go back there.” 

“I mean, our whole childhoods were spent in that castle, fighting a war that children were never meant to participate in.” Hermione shrugged. 

“What are we even supposed to do? After, you know?” Harry turned to look at his best friend. “Go into the Aurors and just keep fighting? I’ve been fighting my whole life. I don’t want to fight anymore.” 

Harry relaxed back against the tree. Hermione watched him calmly, nodding along. 

“We don’t even know who we are. We spent our whole adolescence as warriors. How are we supposed to know?” Hermione sighed, playing with the excess cloth of her long-sleeved tee-shirt, her wrists knobby and skin looking corpse-like. 

“What do you want your life to look like? Like, if everything were perfect and exactly how you wanted it, where would you want to end?” Harry wondered absently. 

“Probably teaching somewhere. Maybe at Hogwarts?” Hermione wondered aloud. “School has always been the one thing I’ve always, always excelled at, you know? I know you think I’m excellent and wonderful at loads of things, but the one thing I’ve always viewed myself successful at is learning,” she quickly blew through Harry’s argument when she saw him puff up in her defense. “I’d adore being a teacher.” 

“You would be an excellent teacher, Hermione.” Harry nodded along with her. “The DA was incredibly successful, mostly because of your excellent teaching.” 

“You’re a great teacher too, Harry.” Hermione smiled, clasping his hand in her darker one, giving him a kind smile. 

“Imagine, we could be professors at Hogwarts together!” Harry gave a tired smile, the biggest he had in a while. “We could, you know. I’m sure McGonagall would consider taking us under her wing.” 

“Let’s ask. Just for shits and giggles.” Hermione suggested, running a hand through her curls. “It’s not like we have many other options as two seventeen-year-olds whose educations have been inadequate for the past seven years, especially if you don’t want to be an Auror.” 

“Why not.” Harry agreed, nodding once.

“Let’s go!” Hermione leaped to her feet at once, her tee-shirt billowing out from her skinny body. “Let’s go owl McGonagall right now. Might as well, right?” 

“Might as well.” Harry agreed quietly, allowing his friend to pull him from the ground. “Hermione?” 

Harry gripped Hermione’s hand tightly, pulling her back to him. The sunlight made her dark, wild hair, and her rich eyes gleam gold, but it made it so apparent the gauntness of her face, the dark circles under her beautiful eyes. She looked like a ghost, and Harry couldn’t imagine that he looked much better. 

"Let's find someplace else to stay, okay?" Harry suggested gently, watching as Hermione's eyes roared to life, her whole body stiffening at the idea of returning to the Wizarding world. "We don't have to go back into the whole world, but it'd be better, don't you think, if we had a real place to stay, not just being squatters in the Dursley's old house? What do you think of being people again, not criminals?" 

Hermione nodded stiffly, taking one of Harry's hands in hers. "Alright," she agreed tentatively. "Perhaps a Muggle inn? Just for a bit?" 

"Just for a bit," Harry agreed, squeezing her hand with a small smile. The one he received, in turn, looked battered, a bit bruised, but Hermione was still just as alive as always, as alive as he was. 

The pair disappeared from the Muggle playground they had frequented, although no one noticed. 

Hermione had since become adept at Notice-Me-Not Charms. They had kept them alive, after all.


	2. Favorite Missing Persons

JULY 1ST, 1998, approx. two months post-Battle of Hogwarts

Minerva McGonagall was equal parts relieved and infuriated to receive a letter from ‘your favorite missing persons’ on the prettiest day she had experienced in a while. 

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter had disappeared from the Wizarding World after Draco Malfoy’s trial, and the funerals of Fred Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus Lupin. They both testified on behalf of Malfoy, then disappeared into the night, looking like a pair of ghosts, thin and gaunt and their skin lacking the healthy glow Minerva was so used to seeing on them. 

Even throughout the chaotic years of their education, Harry and Hermione always leaned against one another and kept each other upright, kept each other smiling and hopeful. Seeing the apples of her eye so sickly, so downtrodden, looking like the life had been sapped out of them, broke her heart. 

Minerva remembered how shocked she had been, seeing Harry and Hermione in that courtroom. She had seen them at the Battle, of course, but she had been in no position to analyze the pair. At Draco Malfoy’s trial, however, she had ample time to, and she was struck by how much the two had been affected by being on the run. 

The trial had been only a couple days after the Battle, May 5th, and Harry and Hermione had appeared not to have slept in the three days since the war had ended. They sported matching dark circles bored under their eyes, their skin pulled taut over their cheekbones and their wrists knobby. They looked like skeletons, and their eyes looked exhausted. Harry and Hermione held hands the entire time and, when the Wizengamot commanded everyone to sit, they refused even though they swayed as though it required all of their energy to remain upright. Many war veterans, Minerva herself included, remained standing and the Chief Warlock was intimidated, to say the least. 

The Interim Chief Warlock, a meek man with brown hair Minerva believed to be named Lucas Elderberry, had stuttered through the announcement of who was to be sentenced that day. Harry and Hermione stared down the Chief Warlock, looking like a pair of vampires for all they knew, and a pair of Ministry employees had led a skeletal Draco Malfoy, his hair long and greasy and his face and clothes smudged with dirt. Minerva noticed that these were the clothes young Draco had been wearing at the Battle, and saw Harry tense and Hermione wrap an arm around his. 

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy, son of Lucius Septimus Malfoy and Narcissa Rose Malfoy nee Black, is accused of assisting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to infiltrate Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, accepting the Dark Mark, conspiring to murder Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and attacking members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army.” The Warlock announced, sending off a flurry of whispers and murmurs. Draco merely slumped over in the chair he was tied to in the center of the courtroom, looking like a beaten scarecrow. 

“He’s innocent,” Harry spoke, his voice rusty from lack of use. Every member of the courtroom turned toward the “Saviour”. Even Draco himself had looked up at Harry, his eyes tentatively hopeful. 

“He’s innocent.” Hermione echoed, louder. 

“Excuse me? Mr. Potter—”

“Draco Malfoy is innocent. Theodore Nott repaired the Vanishing Cabinet to allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy accepted the Dark Mark under threat of death, and accepted the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore under the threat of the death of himself and his family. He never laid a hand on Albus Dumbledore. I rescued Draco Malfoy from the Room of Requirement on May 2nd and he never laid a hand on any member of the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore’s Army.” Harry spoke fiercely, his words were flames igniting his sickly emerald eyes. His hands clenched at his sides, he looked ready to fight another war. “Draco Malfoy assisted mine, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Garrick Ollivander’s escape from Malfoy Manor. Draco Malfoy was harbored by William Weasley and Fleur Delacour at Shell’s Cottage after that escape and answered the call on May 2nd via Dumbledore’s Army Galleons despite incredible personal peril. On May 2nd, he was in the Room of Requirement trying to help us find Ravenclaw’s Diadem and was attacked by Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. I was his backup that day, and Draco Malfoy is as much of a hero as I am. He fought valiantly during the battle and was essential in Voldemort's defeat.” 

The entire courtroom was silent. You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse sneeze. If you were watching like a hawk, and Minerva was, you could see a pair of tears chase each other down the pale face of Draco Abraxas Malfoy as he watched these two former enemies of his defend him with such ferocity. 

“You will release him. You will pardon him. Draco Malfoy is not a Death Eater, even if he may carry the Dark Mark,” Hermione spoke succinctly, leaving no room for argument. “He saved our lives. The Light would not have been able to defeat Voldemort without the efforts of Draco Malfoy. Check his pocket. A member of Dumbledore’s Army always has their Galleon.” 

Hermione and Harry held out their palms, displaying the golden dragon of Gringotts emblazoned on the metal. Members of the Wizengamot craned their necks to see Harry and Hermione’s Galleons, and other members of Dumbledore’s Army retrieved their Galleons as well. Minerva reached into her pocket and felt for the familiar weight of the metal and raised it above her head, her heart swelling with pride. 

Minerva was among the few members of the jury that day that was not shellshocked. 

“Can anyone corroborate this story?” Lucas Elderberry squeaked, and anyone could see the bullets of sweat falling down his brow. 

Minerva stood. Every other member of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix stood. Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ginevra, and Ronald Weasley, Susan Bones, Pansy Parkinson, anyone that could be some sort of character witness, Harry and Hermione convinced to come testify on Draco’s behalf, and each young person stood with a fist clenching a Galleon raised high in the air. 

When a Ministry employee searched Draco’s pockets, they momentarily couldn’t find a Galleon but, before Elderberry could open his mouth, Ginevra spoke up, demanding they check around his neck for a chord. They found Draco’s Galleon strung around his neck, on a piece of shoestring, to be tucked under his shirt and hidden. Minerva remembered why, suddenly and with a pang of anguish: Draco had lived in the same manor as the Dark Lord himself for months. 

The Chief Warlock appeared as though he may faint, and pronounced Draco free of all charges, and free to go. Ministry employees unshackled the young man, and he stood alone in the center of the courtroom floor, nearly alone beside Minerva, the Chief, and Harry and Hermione, rubbing his wrists where the shackles left angry red marks and looking around, appearing to have no idea what to do next. Harry and Hermione disappeared with a forlorn look, not to be seen since. 

“Professor McGonagall?” The soft-spoken voice broke through Minerva’s remembering. 

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“You’ve been staring at that letter for the past twenty-five minutes, professor. It’s time for my Transfiguration lesson?” Draco had crawled out of his shell centimeter by centimeter in the months since his trial, especially once Minerva began teaching him the curriculum he had missed during what would have been his seventh year and she was immensely grateful for his natural state of timeliness, as well as his company, to distract her from moments such as this. 

“Yes, yes it is,” McGonagall sighed, peering over her glasses at the large grandfather clock in the corner of her office. She folded the letter and accepted the offered essay roll from Draco’s long fingers. 

“Professor?” Draco asked quietly, looking for all it’s worth like a young boy. 

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” Minerva raised her eyebrow at him, taking note of Draco’s flinch. 

“Could you please call me ‘Draco,’ Professor?” 

“Of course, Draco.” Minerva gave him a kindly smile, and Draco nervously returned it. “We were working on Animagi, were we not?” 

Draco gave a relieved nod and read off the last mentions of Animagi from his notes. Minerva secretly hoped that her ‘favorite missing persons’ would return to the Wizarding World, and soon.


	3. Son of an Aristocrat

JULY 1ST, 1998

Draco Malfoy was used to being alone. 

He was an only child, the son of an aristocrat, and was considered a "freak of nature". These three facts culminated in a childhood absent of friendships typical of a young child, as well as difficulty even making friends, let alone keeping them, for the rest of his life. 

What he wasn't used to was being surrounded by people.  
Father had never allowed him to accompany him to any of the Ministry galas the rich and powerful Lucius Malfoy was invited to. Mother had never had very many friends aside from Father's Ministry contacts' wives, and they hardly thought to bring their precious heirs to socialize with an "inbred, loony" child such as Draco. 

So, living in Hogwarts with McGonagall and experiencing dozens of different people bustling around him, working with him, every day was a change. Draco was pretty sure it wasn't a bad experience, but he wasn't exactly sure how particularly fond he was of it. 

Especially when he found that, through living with McGonagall and interacting with her for long periods of time throughout the day, she became quite capable of reading his thoughts. 

"Draco," McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him over her bowl of stew. "Are you still thinking of your Animagus lessons, or are you thinking of the letter I received prior to them?" 

"Definitely the lessons, Professor." Draco lied before dunking a chunk of bread in the stew to occupy his mouth. 

"Ah, so the letter then." McGonagall took a dainty bite and dabbed the corners of her lips with her handkerchief. "Not that you require the information for your studies, young Draco, but it was from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger." 

Before Draco really thought through what he was going to say, he spouted snarkily, "Ah, so they've finally decided to bless us with their presence after their honeymoon?" 

He sincerely wished that his automatic default setting wasn't "sarcastic prick," but alas. 

McGonagall raised both eyebrows this time and laughed at him the sort of way a grandmother might laugh at a young child pouting over something quite obviously in their favor. 

"Draco, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger appear to have needed some space after being on the run for nearly a year, then participating in a war that left quite a few of the people they love dead," Draco felt thoroughly chastised and he was sure McGonagall knew it by the look in her icy eyes. "They said that they would like the opportunity to return to Hogwarts for a redo of their seventh year, as well as potentially teaching after an apprenticeship." 

"Oh," Draco spoke to his stew, suddenly losing his appetite. "What are you going to say, Professor?" 

"I'm going to tell them 'yes,' just like I told you 'yes.'" McGonagall casually sipped her tea before taking a bite of a croissant. "The house-elves make delightful croissants, Draco. Perhaps you would like one with your soup?" 

"Yes, Professor. Thank you for the suggestion." Draco nodded numbly, images flying through his head as he reached for the offered croissant. 

A very unreasonable, anxious part of his mind thought that, perhaps, Potter and Granger were returning to retract their previously fiercely positive defense from his trial and to ship him off to Azkaban, to be in a matching cell with Father. Another thought that maybe Potter was returning to rub his relationship with Granger in his face, to really rub it in how below him Draco was. A rampant, obviously misplaced, thought hoped fervently that Harry —Harry— would come back and they could pick up where they'd left off under the cloak of night at Shell's Cottage. 

"My suggestion, Draco," McGonagall pinned him in place with her eyes. "Is that you befriend them. They are kind and they see your pain." 

Draco sipped his tea, mind reeling. 

And maybe, just maybe, a small piece of him was terrified they would change the small fragments of redemption, of grudging respect, he'd earned from the other volunteers rebuilding the castle. 

He stole a look at McGonagall and took a large bite of his croissant. It was tasteless and dry and completely overridden by his anxiety and intrusive thoughts bombarding him from every which way. 

Maybe he was even a bit frightened that McGonagall would retract her offer to him when the opportunity to tutor Harry Potter, the Saviour, and his partner-in-crime, Hermione Granger arose.


	4. Fireplace Inn

JULY 7TH, 1998

"They don't remember me, Harry," Hermione's whole body shuddered with the fierce sobs working their way through her body. Harry merely held her as tightly as he could, stroking his fingers carefully through Hermione's thick hair. "They don't remember their own daughter." 

Harry couldn't really find anything else to do except hold on to Hermione as she cried herself hoarse, her hands tightened in the Weasley sweater he'd worn holes into. 

"I can never go back," Hermione whispered into the fireplace of the random Muggle hotel room they'd rented, her eyes looking bleak and lifeless. "There's no 'Dan and Jane Granger' anymore, and I can never go back to being their daughter." 

"No," Harry agreed, kneeling beside his friend, the fireplace glinting off her face, making it look as though the flames were engulfing her. "But they're still alive in you, you know? I think Hagrid or someone told me that about mine. You are still Hermione Granger." 

Hermione nodded mutely, clutching at the form of the golden Galleon under her white t-shirt. She stared into the fire and it nearly appeared like she wasn't seeing, wasn't thinking for once. 

Harry didn't know what else to do aside from sit in front of the fire with her and hold her trembling hand. When he had started to drift off, his eyes heavy, Hermione had spoken up, shocking him awake. 

"Let's go to Hogwarts," Hermione whispered, still staring blankly into the fire. "Let's go tomorrow." 

"Okay, Hermione," Harry agreed tiredly, gathering the skeletal girl in his arms. "Let's sleep for now, though, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Hermione replied, limply falling into Harry's skinny arms, tucking herself against his heartbeat like she had so many times before, in the forest. "Harry?" 

"Yeah?" Harry replied softly, an ache pulling the air out of his lungs as he was strongly reminded of staying up late studying in the Gryffindor common room, his best friend drifting off on his shoulder after the common room had cleared out, leaving two kindred spirits to drift off in the glow of ebbing embers. 

"Nothing will ever be the same again?" Hermione whispered, her voice caught halfway between a statement and a question. 

"No, not really," Harry murmured, smoothing down her coils and resting his cheek against her head. "But it'll be alright." 

"Promise?" Hermione's voice wavered, sounding like exhaustion was pulling coherent thought away from her. 

"Promise," Harry pressed a kiss against Hermione's forehead, the familiar scent of her hair, of vanilla and parchment and clean laundry, calming his racing heart. "It'll all be alright." 

Harry felt Hermione's body slacken against him, and he couldn't help but think of that late, late night in fifth-year, after Sirius' death. 

Hermione had sat beside him, much further away than they were used to now, and asked him if he wanted to talk. He'd refused, and begged her to talk for once. He'd been so tired of everyone badgering him to share his feelings when he could barely discern them from each other in the roiling, furious mass that was his head. 

She'd simply nodding, seemingly understanding his predicament and she'd started talking. About anything and everything. About Transfiguration, about how much she adored it. Hermione had confided in him that she'd always wanted to become an Animagus, and he'd given her the best smile he could offer then, because he agreed — he still did. She talked about how enthralled she'd been as a tiny first-year, learning magic for the first time, how she wanted to devour anything and everything to fit in. She talked about her thoughts on the Death Eaters, their children, how she thought maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't so bad underneath it all, probably just scorned by Harry's refusal as a child, feeling so long ago, and it compounded year after year as Harry had seemingly gained power and recognition and fame and sometimes even respect, things Malfoy probably had longed for his whole life. Harry had nodded along, a welcome distraction from Sirius, about the life he could have had with his godfather. 

When Harry had asked —no, begged, more like— her to talk about her hopes for after the war was over, needing to hear that Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age, the one who planned everything, had some sort of plan for After. That she believed in an After. He prompted her, asking about what job she wanted, what she wanted to name her children, if any. What she hoped for in a husband. "Girly" things, Ron would have said, Harry had thought. He didn't care if they were "girly"; he cared if home and family and happiness and love were possibly tangible, a real desire that someone else shared. 

Hermione had leaned back from the fire, looking a bit stricken, crossing her arms and staring into it, biting her bottom lip. Classic "Debating Hermione"; Harry knew she was weighing pros and cons inside her head as she took a deep breath. 

"Maybe Minister for Magic —er, Ministress?" Hermione chuckled to herself, reaching for the newly-minted Galleons in her pocket and tracing the edges. "I've always liked 'Rose,' or maybe 'Rowan' for a girl. 'Hugo' or 'Felix' or 'Milo' for a boy." 

It was here that she stalled, and Harry had been caught up in imagining a grown Hermione with maybe two kids, a little girl with Hermione's wicked intelligence and her smile, a little boy with her clever gleam in her eye. Maybe he'd live to be their Uncle Harry, he had hoped desperately. 

"What's important in a husband?" Harry had joked weakly. 

"That my husband's not a man," Hermione had choked out, before holding her breath. Harry had seen her hands tremble where they held that golden coin, but her eyes were fierce, like she was ready to tackle him if he dare say anything insensitive. He had taken her hand in his and simply asked, "What's important in a wife, then?" 

Hermione had nearly cried with joy, throwing her arms around him and he had clutched her to his chest, filled, instead, with fondness for the girl in his arms. His best friend, his confidant, someone who'd had his back no matter what since he'd met her. He had awkwardly patted her back then, still not used to physical affection, and she had pulled away with such bright, lively hope in her eyes, Harry felt a bit caught up in it all. 

"So?" He'd nudged her shoulder with his, a stronger smile now growing on his face. "What is important?" 

"A sense of humor," Hermione began haltingly, a fierce blush painting her cheekbones. She'd looked away then, looking into the fire with a wistful look making her eyes seem a bit sad. "Mutual support towards our goals, trust, love, dare I say." 

"You dare say," Harry had quipped back. They had spoken no more about Hermione's wish for a wife, not even when they'd fallen asleep together on the couch, Hermione tucked against Harry's chest for the first time, and Ron had rudely woken them up the next morning by annoyedly joking about Hermione being Harry's girlfriend and him becoming a third wheel. 

Harry had denied it, "she's my best mate, especially after all that hullabaloo you've caused us this morning! You've been demoted!", but had shared a secret look with Hermione, cheeks flushed pink when he met her eyes with a finger pressed to his lips. 

It was the first time he'd felt normal in years, especially after the battle at the Ministry, joking with Ron and Hermione that morning. Although his sorrow and regret and longing weighed heavily on his heart, brilliant, kind Hermione Granger was always pretty good at making him feel normal with a smile and the familiar "oh, Harry" when he did something particularly stupid.


	5. Return to Hogswarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I appreciate any feedback you might have for me, and I sincerely appreciate the people who have bookmarked and commented! Have a nice day, everyone!

JULY 8TH, 1998

Harry woke promptly at seven am, his wand vibrating in the pocket of the black bomber jacket he'd bought from a secondhand shop in London. 

"'Mione," he gently shook the young woman awake, her eyes snapping open nearly at once, alertness instantly flooding her body as she grappled for her own wand. "It's alright, love, it's okay." 

"Harry," Hermione patted Harry's chest tiredly, the panic ebbing from her tense body. He nodded fondly, giving her a half-squeeze. 

"C'mon, you go ahead and shower first, alright?" Harry gently nudged Hermione towards the decrepit bathroom of the inn. She nodded numbly and collected the bottomless pink bag she refused to let go of. It held all of their personal items and it was Hermione's most prized possession. "I'll make some tea." 

Harry busied himself in the small kitchenette, fighting to convince the gas stove to kick to life and heat the sad chipped teapot. He leaned against the countertop, scrubbing a hand over his greasy face. Harry sighed, half dreading his return to Hogwarts, half desperate to retrace the steps of his adolescence, the only real childhood he'd had. 

He pushed aside the hopeful thoughts that other students would be there, helping to rebuild the destroyed castle. He actively fought against the vain hope that Draco Malfoy, of all people, was there too. 

Hermione reappeared, snapping Harry out of his reverie, wearing a leather jacket with a worn white shirt underneath, tucked into black jeans and rough black boots, her hair tucked underneath a black and white bandana, and looking ready for a fight, if not for the exhausted sorrow painting her eyes dark. 

"Tea?" Harry shook himself awake and poured the steaming liquid from the screaming kettle into a chipped teacup. 

Hermione nodded and took the cup, pressing both palms into the heated porcelain, taking a sip and peering at Harry over the rim. 

"You're hoping Draco Malfoy is going to be there," Hermione noted casually. Harry, who was going to take a sip of his own tea, nearly spat it out, cheeks instantaneously flushing. 

_"No," _Harry tried to convince both her and himself, his nose screwing up grumpily. "I'm _not _."____

_____ _

"Yes, you are," Hermione pinned him into place with her eyes, making him feel extremely exposed and naked as she took him in, a vulnerable look in her eyes. Harry realized suddenly that she wanted to distract herself. "I know Shell Cottage changed something, Harry. I _was _there, you might remember."__

_______ _ _ _

"We don't have to talk about it, Hermione," Harry replied coolly, staring into the loose leaves of the teacup. Unwelcome images of Draco Malfoy flashed through his mind, making him squeeze his eyes shut and swallow sharply. 

_______ _ _ _

"You should talk to _someone _about it, eventually," Hermione chided, her voice soft and nearly a whisper. "I would be happy to listen, without judgment."__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

"I know," Harry sagged against the counter, setting the tea down, rubbing his eyes. He'd lost his taste for the English breakfast blend. "I just have a lot of feelings." 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Hermione snorted into her tea and put a hand on her hip, raising a single eyebrow at him in amusement. She reminded him so strongly of first-year Hermione at this moment, so innocent and unburdened, lecturing him about homework or studying or _something _before a war stole that innocence.__

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I know you do," Hermione gave him a small smile, taking another sip of tea without breaking eye contact. "We have time to talk. It's only 7:30." 

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Let me shower first," Harry sighed. He knew that she would keep asking and, besides, maybe she'd help him sort his feelings out. She was brilliant after all, and probably would understand him better than he did. Besides, she looked like she needed a project. "Mind spelling my jacket clean? Your cleaning charms are so much better than mine, 'Mione. Smell like lemons or something." 

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry shrugged out of the bomber jacket and extended it to Hermione with a charming smile. She accepted it, shaking her head with a fond look as she draped it over one arm. 

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Don't stall, Harry," Hermione gave a knowing look and Harry flashed back with a vaguely annoyed look. Hermione knew him better than he knew himself; he hadn't really thoroughly considered stalling until she'd cut him off. "You have ten minutes before I sit on the toilet lid and drag it out of you." 

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry groaned loudly and sulked to the bathroom, glaring at himself in the mirror, all flushed pink tawny skin and wild black curls and dark circles under piercing emerald eyes. He plucked his worn circular glasses off his face and quickly fixed them with a muttered _"Reparo" _before shedding the holey denim trousers and white t-shirt and toeing off his faded sneakers.__

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The water was shockingly cold but it was a welcome distraction for the inevitable conversation, the unwelcome feelings that Harry had trapped inside his chest when he thought of the blonde Malfoy boy. 

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Damn it," Harry muttered, leaning his head against the shower wall, bracketed by this forearms pressing against the tile, icy water dripping down his fringe and into his eyes. He threw his head back and scrubbed shampoo and conditioner into his thick hair, before sudsing up. The memories of Shell Cottage kept bombarding Harry as he washed with a flannel, even though he fervently shut his eyes and forcefully thought about anything else, the memories kept flooding back. Draco, looking terrified but determined, wand outstretched as he sent a chandelier crashing down on the head of his aunt, Draco's sleeves rolled up, exposing the Dark Mark as he hummed a tune and kneaded bread dough beside Fleur, _Draco stumbling into the bath— ___

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"Harry?" Hermione tentatively knocked on the door before it creaked open. Harry could hear bundles being deposited on the toilet lid and realized he forgot to collect his own clothing from his own bottomless backpack. "I'll be out here when you're ready to talk." 

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"Er," Harry cleared his throat, finding it a bit hard to speak. His throat felt tight and a bit like he had a lump stuck in it. "Thanks, Hermione." 

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The door creaked shut, and Harry rinsed his hair out one more time before shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower, shivering and reaching for a towel that Hermione had draped over the sink. He smiled as he picked it up, warmth radiating off of it. Hermione had evidently cast one of her famous heating charms on it and he felt a bit calmer. He dried and dressed quickly in a clean pair of black denims, a clean black t-shirt, a pair of newly-darned red socks fixed with golden embroidery thread, and his faded black sneakers. He shoved the glasses back on his face after towel-drying his hair, then bundled all of his dirty clothes in his arms before nudging the door open with his foot. 

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Hermione had sat down at the island in the small kitchenette, sipping at her cup of tea. Harry deposited his clothing in his backpack before leaning against the counter and sighing. She sent him a silent "I'm listening" with piercing golden eyes. 

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"Draco and I got—got _close _, I guess you could say, at the cottage," Harry began slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. "He helped us get out, you know? You were mostly unconscious and Bill and Fleur were trying to help and stay out of our way simultaneously and it was just so-so _stifling _. It was hard, to say the least, trying to keep my head on straight in the middle of a war while my very best friend wasn't-wasn't there."____

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Hermione nodded and gestured to him to keep going. Harry gulped in a breath of air he hadn't realized he needed when he spotted the ragged flesh on Hermione's left forearm. He could just barely spot the capital "od" of "Mudblood" from where Hermione's sleeve was pulled nearly to her wrist. He tore his eyes away from the scar and focussed on her bandana-covered hair instead.

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"He-he's really clever, you know?" Harry spoke gruffly, the lump returning to his throat. He swallowed hard, feeling anxiety creeping upon him. "He helped heal you. Helped heal _me _. Helped me sort my head out when I was just frantic for your safety."__

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The image of his blonde head bent over Hermione's prone form flashed through the forefront of Harry's mind, closely followed by Draco, white-blonde hair plastered to his face with water, standing in the rain looking up at the stars barely visible in between the clouds, _"Look, there's Draco and Lyra and Orion, Sirius too. It's the brightest star in the sky." ___

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"He calmed me, treated me like a normal person not in the middle of a war. He helped me plan things out, helped me make sense of it all. He apologized to me for being a prat, taught me the names of the stars to occupy my mind, so I wouldn't be sick with anxiety," Harry gave a wry smile, looking down at his hands. 

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"You got close," Hermione said firmly, egging him on. "How does that make you feel?" 

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"It makes me feel—" _I miss him _, Harry interrupted himself, the thought a bit shocking. "It _made _me feel invincible, to have him beside me, a partner rather than an enemy. He made me feel like a real person and not just a martyr. He made me laugh even when I thought it impossible."____

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Hermione nodded, eyes fluttering shut. "He kept you safe," she whispered to her teacup. 

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"Yeah. Kept me safe and sane," Harry nodded. "I just—he's some sort of special or something. He-he just, makes me feel things I never have before." 

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"Good feelings?" Hermione's eyes snapped open, a vaguely amused look playing at her lips. "Platonic feelings, or something else?" 

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Harry ducked his head and sighed, feeling his face flush _again _. "Something else, I guess? I wanted to-to keep him safe during the battle. I thought he'd gone down and it-I couldn't breathe until Luna helped him up and he smiled at me. He-he looks like some sort of avenging angel or something."__

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Ron would _definitely _think this was "girly." The thought hurt Harry's heart a bit as Ron's abandonment never really fully settled or stopped hurting, and Harry could admit his avoidance of the Wizarding world and, by extension, the Weasleys had quite a bit to do with Ron's departure during the hunt for the Horcruxes.__

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"You care for him," Hermione murmured and Harry nodded uneasily, his blush still readily apparent. "I'm glad you finally figured it all out." 

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Harry nearly choked. 

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_"What?" _he looked at the innocent-looking brunette.__

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"You've been obsessed with Malfoy for forever, Harry," Hermione reminded him, giving him a knowing look. "And we both know that he was just a bit of a prat, before. He never really was a bad guy, but you obsessed over him more than you worried about Voldemort, and that's kind of telling, you know." 

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"I don't-I don't like _boys _though, Hermione!" Harry shot back, crossing his arms firmly, nearly pouting. He imagined he looked quite a bit like a petulant toddler, but how else was he supposed to react?__

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"Harry, love, you've just admitted to feeling non-platonic feelings for Draco Malfoy who, as far as I'm aware, is very much a boy," Hermione pointed out, succinctly, meeting Harry's eyes with a look that was a mixture of exasperated fondness and humor. 

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"Yeah, yeah, I suppose I did," Harry rubbed his hand over his face again, feeling very much wrung-out already. "Look, can we-can we just talk more about this later? I've only been awake like forty-five minutes and I already feel like I could sleep for the rest of the day." 

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"Alright, alright," Hermione agreed, placing the teacups on the counter and linking her arm in his. "To Hogwarts, then?" 

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"To Hogwarts," Harry nodded once. Hermione then twisted on the spot, tugging Harry with her, and Apparated from the empty room. 

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Moments later, on the other side of the UK, the pair knocked into each other, stumbling to regain their footing at the entrance to Hogsmeade village, looking run down and a bit battered. 

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Walking arm in arm towards the school, Harry occasionally tripped over stray pieces of splintered bits of buildings. As Hermione righted him for the fifth time, she rolled her eyes and sighed, " _Honestly _, Harry," and sounded so much like her thirteen-year-old self, he stopped dead in his tracks, a pang in his chest.__

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__"What's wrong?" Hermione gave him a concerned look, coils of poofy rich brown hair dripping into her eyes. She blew it out of her eye line before fixing Harry in place again._ _

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__"You just sounded so young," Harry whispered, nearly laughing to himself at the absurdity of the situation, his hand clutching the jacket over his heart with white-knuckled fists. "Like a kid again."_ _

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__Hermione's eyes flitted away from Harry's and over the tattered Hog's Head walls, the air gradually becoming heavier, thicker, the closer the pair trekked toward Hogwarts. The crunch of gravel filled the anxious silence between the two as the hulking castle of their childhoods came into view between the battered roofs of Hogsmeade's businesses._ _

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__Harry could feel the familiar staticky thrum of magic weighing in the air the closer they got to the actual grounds of the castle and he realized with a pang that they were industrial-strength wards, like the ones hiding the Ministry from view but even stronger, if the heaviness was anything to compare.__

__Once Harry and Hermione stood at the wrought-iron gate of Hogwarts' grounds, they noticed a pair of people moving toward the gate from the main body of the castle. Harry was equal parts excited and absolutely thrilled to see McGonagall, but his stomach dropped and the lump returned to his throat when he realized that the white-blonde hair of the shorter individual was natural, and not an illusion caused by glinting sun. Malfoy really _was _here.___ _

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"Malfoy's here," Hermione pointed out, her elbow digging into Harry's ribs, drawing him from the stupor he had fallen into unintentionally. He felt his face heat up and Hermione gave him a bit of a pleased look. "It's a new chapter of opportunities, Harry." 

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Harry nodded limply, his brain still fighting to catch up when McGonagall, donning a tall, pointed hat topped with a peacock feather, cracked a rare smile at the pair behind the gate. Half a step behind her, Malfoy faltered, schooling his face into one of stoic nonchalance as he crossed his arms across his perfectly-pressed white button-up shirt, harsh grey eyes unreadable, but the dark circles around his eyes told a very similar story to Harry's own sleepless nights. 

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"Welcome home," McGonagall murmured, a twinkle in her blue eyes as she opened the gate with a flourish of her hand. 

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___Harry and Hermione, arms linked, took a deep breath in tandem and stepped over the threshold, polite smiles obscuring their anxieties._ _ _


End file.
